Urban Camouflage
by TheCiaRicht
Summary: Sherlock visits his friends while he's still hunting down the faction that almost proved his downfall. Set Post-Reichenbach. Obviously there's spoilers for the finale. But every knows that. Character death in Ch. 3
1. John

This was originally posted on Archive, then I realised that not everyone uses Archive, so here we are. It may also be going on live journal.. anyway. Enjoy A/N This story was inspired by this art work. art/Urban-Camouflage-281463558 DISCLAIMER: However much I wish it, Sherlock and co do not belong to me. Nor does a suit of Urban Camoflage

_"I need to. Please Mycroft? He won't even know that I'm there, I'll wear the outfit I showed you. You can't have honestly thought it would be for any other reason? I suits the flat perfectly!"_

_"Sherlock, you set the rules up yourself. You know you shouldn-"_

_"Damn the rules Mycroft, when have I ever played by the rules?"_

_"If you get caught, everything you've been working for these past months will be for nothing. You've not completed what you set out to do."_

_"I won't get caught, and I'm almost there."_

The following hour after that particular conversation, Sherlock found himself in a car across from 221B. Steadying his breathing, he put on his suit, placing a coat over it in order to not draw suspision from passers-by.

The past eleven months had been spent tracking down all of Moriarty's associates and anyone likely to bring harm to the group of people that somehow had wriggled their way into his heart to become his friends. He had used his death not only to save his dear friends John, Mrs Hudson and Lestrade, but also force his targets into a false sense of security. He couldn't say that he regretted what he did, and what he continued to do, but he had almost driven himself mad with doubts about the well-being of his friends. Thus, he was led to where he is now, in a car across from his old flat, getting ready to sneak in and check on his favourite blogger.

Getting in was a simple matter of waiting for Mrs Hudson to go for her weekly shop, knowing she always left the door unlocked because if a parcel arrived, she wanted it placed inside the door instead of outside. He only had to wait half an hour for his opportunity.

Getting into 221B was slightly harder, John's schedule had become erratic, his movements more spontaneous than when Sherlock had been 'alive'. But after determining that no sound was being made and that it was safe to move forward, he shook off his coat and slowly made his way to the best point for his outfit to work. Working off the assumption that John still made himself a cup of tea at noon, like he used to, Sherlock positioned himself and placed the last article of clothing on.

As he covered his head with the slip of fabric, Sherlock seemingly disappeared into the wall and waited for 9 minutes before he heard footsteps. Sherlock held his breath as John walked past him to the kitchen, emerging some time later with his predicted cup of tea.

John looked horrible, even after all this time.

The biggest shock of all however, was that John didn't make his way upstairs, but across the landing to Sherlock's old room.

With a fond smile, Sherlock removed the fabric over his head, moving to place a present on the coffee table. He may have told Mycroft that he was simply seeing his old friend, but Sherlock felt that it wasn't enough to merely see, he would see this as an experiment, a peace offering before John knew that one needed to be made.

Quickly, Sherlock made his way out of 221B, picking up his coat on the way, and casually making his way back to the car. Smiling out at 221B one more time before the driver took him back to his brother's house.

He would continue his previous work, content in the knowledge that though John may still be grieving, he may have instilled just a little bit of hope in his old friend.

Back at 221B Baker Street, John came out of his ex-flatmate's old room to put his empty cup in the sink and perhaps make something for lunch.

Walking through the living room, he paused and looked back at the coffee table. Sitting there innocently, as if they'd been there the whole time, was a bag of Jam Donuts.

Picking the bag up and looking in, John found that they were still hot, after calling downstairs for Mrs Hudson and finding her gone, John sat on the couch staring at the bag as if waiting for it to tell him who left them. John knew it was silly, but he couldn't help feeling that they were from his late flatmate and best friend. He smiled and took the bag with him into his room, sending off a text to a number he hadn't used for eight months.

_I got a bag of donuts today, you wouldn't have anything to do with that, would you? - JW_

Of course, he didn't get a reply, but whereas after the first three months of his flatmates death, this fact saddened him, now he only felt a faint amusement. 'Even gone you manage to mystify me', and for the first time in almost a year, he felt hope.

This Work Belongs To: Urban Camouflage


	2. Lestrade

**Well hey there, enjoy another story in the "Urban Camo" series of sorts. I don't particularly want to post them as singular stories, because I know that I personally hate those "sequel to blahblahblah". Anyway, here it is. Lestrade's turn to start second guessing what he thinks is truth and hope for something impossible.**

**Disclaimer: Obviously I still don't own Sherlock.**

_'Sherlock, you can't.'_

_'But My, it's so simple, just let me help a little?'_

_'Fine, but you can't do this again. I'm serious Sherlock, what you did with John was risky.'_

_'Whatever, I have the perfect disguise!'_

Just hours after that particular conversation, Sherlock found himself outside The Yard, waiting for the opportune moment to exit the car and venture over to the wall that was needed for his disguise to actually work. As soon as enough people had entered the street, Sherlock joined the masses, hiding himself within the crowd and flattening himself against the wall when he came to it, adjusting himself as neccessary for the camouflage to work.

Sherlock waited in silence for the man that he was looking for, that would use the information he had to the best of his potential. Of course, Lestrade was a man of routine (brought on by too many years with his wife and a brief stint in the armed forces), which meant that Sherlock spotted him leaving the Yard at exactly seven. When Lestrade got close enough Sherlock smiled fondly at Lestrade's mumbling about Anderson, who had predicatably done something wrong at the crime scene. Something about moving an essential piece of evidence and using it to attack Donovan?

As per usual after a day at the office, Lestrade stopped to get coffee from the outdoor stall, placing his bag on the ground in order to retrieve his wallet from his coat pocket. Seeing this as the opportunity it was, Sherlock pulled a folder out of his jacket, slowly, so as not to attract any attention to himself. A week previous, Sherlock had compiled a folder of information regarding a crime that the team at the Yard were following. With exaggerated care, Sherlock slipped the folder into Greg's open bag, placing it where it would easily be seen, but not so easily that Lestrade would see it before Sherlock wanted him to. Once he was sure that the folder was placed exactly where he wanted it, Sherlock moved back to his spot on the wall, his jacket blending easily with the graffiti behind him, which was exactly what he designed it to do.

Lestrade finished his coffee order and bent down to take his bag, not even glancing at it's contents. He shuffled a bit and then made his way to his new apartment. Watching Lestrade walk away was hard, Sherlock wanted to speak to him, calm him down from his obvious stress, make a joke that only he would get, but that Lestrade was sure to appreciate all the same. Sherlock could tell that Lestrade's wife had left him (the bags around his eyes, the hunch of his shoulders and the way his eyes stayed focussed on the pavement were dead giveaways), and he wanted nothing more than to distract him, make him laugh. (Though really, it shouldn't have come as a shock. She was obviously sleeping with her boss. Sje was always staying late when she didn't do any work anyway, he was sure the ex-couple hadn't slept together for months before the divorce and did he think that pay rise came from nowhere?)

Once Lestrade was out of sight, Sherlock glided back over to the car, sitting back. He stayed there, thinking, until Anderson and Donovan came out of the Yard, bickering. Sherlock smirked and felt as if he could almost miss them, but he quickly quelled the feeling with a full body shudder and a grimace. No. But when he 'came back from the dead', maybe he could learn to tolerate them a little more.

...Maybe not.

Lestrade had just gotten off the phone with John who told him about the surprise donut drop-off that had happened last month, John believed that it was Sherlock, was adament that he had survived the fall. Lestrade felt genuinely worried for him, Sherlock's death had hit John hard, but after all this time? It had been a bit too long for John to start seeing him everywhere again. He shook his head and opened his bag, readying himself to spend the night reading over the evidence of the latest crime, he knew the answer was right in front of them, and (not for the first time) he desperately wished that Sherlock was still with them.

He opened his bag and frowned, he noticed a folder, one that was certainly too organised for his team to have put together. Regarding it warily, he made the decision to just look inside. Maybe his team had decided to place some pride in their book keeping. Opening the, he saw print outs of websites, newpaper clippings and word documents, all leading to one conclusion. The alibis, the eye witnesses, all lying, trying to protect... . Lestrade's eyes widened and he scrabbled for his phone, flicking through the evidence again. Of course, idiot. Of course it was that simple.

"Donovan? Yes. Get to the Yard. Now. No, I don't care what you're doing. It was the son. Yes, that's right. Now go."

Hanging up, Lestrade thought that maybe John wasn't as crazy as he'd thought. Because only one person could give such thorough evidence and end it all with a _'If the investigative team working on this weren't idiots, it would have been obvious. And you deserved better than her.'_

Maybe he was wrong...

Maybe it wasn't him...

But at least now he could hope.

**Quick note:**

**If anyone wants a particular person to be surprised by Sherlock, comment or message and I'll do my best to make it happen.**

**Also, keeping this as complete. Just.. stories will be added onto it every now and then.**


	3. Mrs Hudson

_"Why on Earth do you want to see that old woman?"_

_"Oi! She's not just an old woman. She was my..."_

_"Your what, Sherlock?"_

_"Dammit Mycroft, she was my friend. Alright?"_

_"Didn't know you had friends, oh mighty consulting detective."_

_"...I'm leaving. Don't wait up."_

* * *

__The car had been idling for over an hour, the driver kept looking back at his passenger. The driver, Steven, had been in Mycroft's employ for many years now and he had gotten rather good at being around unusual circumstances without asking questions or talking about it to anyone. However, this circumstance was slightly more unusual than the others. Steven knew that this young man was Sherlock Holmes and he had heard much about him from both Mycroft and the media.

Whilst Sherlock was distracted, Steven took in his outfit once more. 'Urban camouflage' Mycroft had called it. Made with extreme care and precision to exactly match the church they were parked outside of. When time was finally running short, Steven cleared his throat, waiting for his passenger to look up before speaking.

"Sir, it's about to start any minute, you'll want to get in before they close the doors."

With an almost resigned nod, Sherlock glanced around quickly before slipping out of the car and dodging other latecomers as he struggled to stay hidden. Immediately after Sherlock had entered the church, the service started. He cast a quick look around for John, seeing him up the front, blank face streaked with tears.

Sherlock swallowed thickly, trying to ignore the lump in his throat and the stinging in his eyes. He turned his attention towards the priest as he opened the service.

"Good morning, we are gathered here today to celebrate the life of an amazing woman. Martha Hudson was a parent and friend to us all..."

* * *

"The ceremony was beautiful, you would've loved it. I never even realised how many people... Well, that just shows what a terrible renter I am. I feel like I knew nothing about you, especially after today. All the stories, all the memories people had with you. I'm a little bit jealous, I'll be honest. I wish I had known you better. I'm sure Sherlock does too."

John stood at Mrs Hudson's gravestone, like he had at Sherlock's all those years ago. Tears were still streaming down his face, but he kept talking. Kept saying his final goodbyes.

"I really wish Sherlock had still been here to see it. I know he would've missed you as much as I do, even if he had hidden behind his detective mask and buried himself in his work. We would've known."

He took a final deep breath and half-turned reluctantly, "I have to get back to work, we're low on staff at the moment. I just wanted to let you know that, you were never just a land lady. You were one of the best friends I'd ever had."

With that, he turned, making his way to St. Bart's. With John's departure, Sherlock was free to step out from behind the trees. For a short moment, Sherlock watched John go. As John got too far away for Sherlock to see any longer, he turned towards Mrs Hudson's grave.

"I've never been too good with emotions, as you well know."

There was a moment of silence as Sherlock desperately tried to think of what to say.

"I'm alive. But you probably knew that. You always did know more than you ought to. I know you were angry with me for a time, but I promise you. What I did that day was completely necessary. It's been three years, and I've finally done it. You were finally safe."

A sob escaped him and he fell to his knees.

"You were finally safe. _If only you had_**_ waited!_**"

"...I'm sorry. I just... I don't know. I failed you. I had my return so perfectly planned and I was going to get you to understand what I did. It would've been just like old times. But you see, in this vision. You were always there. And now? You've ruined my plan Mrs Hudson. And that was very inconsiderate of you. But I love you. You were the mother I always wanted, and the friend I didn't know I had until it was too late."

Sherlock stood, brushing the dirt flat again. "It won't be the same without you Mrs Hudson. I'll miss you more than I ever thought was possible. You were the only other person that believed in me wholeheartedly. I'm going to go, Mrs Hudson, but I'll visit you every month and I'll look after the flat for you. When I go back, I promise I'll stop doing those silly little experiments that got you so frustrated, I'll stop shooting the wall. I'm sure John will help keep me out of trouble."

With that, Sherlock swiftly turned and headed back to the car, fresh tears and a feeling of new found resolution following him. He would take this as an example. He couldn't wait in the shadows forever. Stupid things like this happened all the time. Mugging, reckless driving, shootings. Any one of those could take away his remaining friends, and he refused to leave them in the dark any longer.

Today was the day he returned.

* * *

**small bonus - Mycroft and Sherlock plot his return**

* * *

Mycroft was in the lounge when Sherlock returned. One look at his face was all it took. Ignoring the red eyes and the still wet cheeks, Mycroft addressed the determination.

"When will you do it?"

"Tonight. I want to be there for them to offer comfort."

The two brothers sat the table for over four hours, perfecting the plan, making sure that the focus would not be on Sherlock returning, because Mrs Hudson deserved to remain in the spot light. Sherlock would do this for her and for every opportunity he had but ignored. Sherlock would return for John, to comfort him as he lost someone close to him. He would return for Lestrade, to help him track down the bastard that did this to Mrs Hudson. And he would return for himself, because even he needed someone in these darkest of times.

And he would return for Mycroft, because Lord knows he was getting sick of Sherlock's whining.

* * *

_**THE END**_


End file.
